


Through the Looking Glass

by OurPanBashir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, flipped au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-19 05:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurPanBashir/pseuds/OurPanBashir
Summary: AU where Aziraphale and Crowley's roles are reversed: Aziraphale is cast out of heaven, and Crowley is the angel sent to keep an eye on him on Earth.





	Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gayartdad](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gayartdad).

> Based on @gayartdad's prompt for the #GOFanExchange on twitter: Flipped AU, Aziraphale is fallen and Crowley is an angel.

Apple tree duty. It had been the easiest job around, or that was how it had been described. He wouldn’t have been assigned it, otherwise. Aziraphale was a lowly principality, after all, and could only be trusted with the more menial tasks. All he was supposed to do was make sure the humans didn’t eat the forbidden fruit. Simple. Along with his corporeal form, he had been given a flaming sword, though he wasn’t altogether sure what he was supposed to have done with it instead of giving it to the mortals for protection.

As he fell the seemingly endless distance from Heaven to Hell, Aziraphale meditated upon what had angered his higher-ups enough to cast him out. He was passing the mortal plane when he settled upon an answer; communication. Presenting oneself to humans was supposed to be the job of the archangels, not the principalities. No, his job had been to oversee the earthly realm, not intervene.

He had heard tell of the plans for each archangel’s appearance to Humanity, with Gabriel saved for last. Gabriel, Michael and the others, _those_ were the names Humanity was to know, not Aziraphale. But he had done it now, exposed the mortals to heavenly concepts far too early. Now, when the first archangel appeared, they would not be met with the same shock and elation as had been intended. Aziraphale, a lowly principality, had interfered with Her plans.

By the time he landed in Hell, Aziraphale’s eyes were long accustomed to the darkness he found himself in. It was either moments or years - he wasn’t certain - before he found the energy to move. His form felt as if it had shattered across all planes. Once he was able to stand, he began to slowly limp towards the gates that were just about visible in the gloom.

As he approached, Aziraphale was able to make out details on the gates - it was made of a darker material than he had ever seen in Heaven or Earth, that appeared to somehow sap the world around it of its colour too. A similarly dark but red-tinged wall stretched far into the gloom either side of it, glistening from moisture. The closer he got, the stronger the stench of it was. It smelled acrid and metallic, a stench that Aziraphale was trying his best not to compare to rotting mortal matter.

Either side of the gates sat large, menacing gargoyles. Aziraphale had assumed they were stone at first, but he was certain he had seen them turn to peer at him as he got closer. A shriek was only just swallowed down in time as the gargoyles hopped down from their perches and landed with a squelch on the waterlogged ground.

“Um, hello there. I think there’s been something of a mistake. You see, I don’t I belong here.“ Aziraphale began to explain hurriedly, afraid the grotesques would add to the damage to his form already done by the fall. Despite being cast out, Aziraphale was clinging to the small hope that the archangels would change their mind, or someone higher up would overrule them. _She_ can’t have wanted him down here, surely?

“You’re right. You don’t belong here.” Came an acerbic drawl from the other side of the gates. A small figure, dressed in black and red, was watching Aziraphale stagger backwards away from the grotesques with something akin to a snarl on their diseased face. Their words came with an underlying buzzing, a noise that would have put Aziraphale on edge if he were not thoroughly past that point already.

“Oh. Well, good.” Aziraphale replied. “Sorry, who are you?”

“Beelzebub, Lord of Hell.” The figure answered, somehow sounding sarcastic despite telling the truth. It appeared Aziraphale’s arrival was not one of the highlights of their day. “You’ve been cast out of Heaven, but you’re not welcome here. Hell _remembers_. You fought against us in the Great War.” The last words of each sentence were extended, vowels drawn out into low pitched whines not unlike the sound of mosquitos in flight.

Ah. So he hadn’t been summoned back to Heaven, Hell just held grudges. Aziraphale grimaced and looked about, unsure how he was supposed to reply.

“That was a _long_ time ago, and I didn’t fight all that much.” He countered, though wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince the Lord of Hell to let him in. He didn’t want to be here any more than he was wanted here. “Where can I go, then, if you won’t let me in?”

“Earth.” Came the reply, spat through the gates. “You will be exiled to Earth, our overseer of mortals.” The figure smirked. “Just like your old job that you did _so well_ at before.”

_Well_, Aziraphale thought to himself, _this won’t be so bad. _So as to not let on how he felt about this punishment, however, he put on his best disappointed face and nodded glumly. “As you wish, my Lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me, so shall be a multichapter beast. Thank you to my dear friend teabeast for letting me pick your brains about christian angelology, which will become more involved in following chapters.


End file.
